


Craving

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: Forgiven Yearning [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Biting, Blood and Injury, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Pining, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Sexually Frustrated Antagonists, Swordfighting, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: Even in death, they are not free from Zenos’s laughing eyes.





	Craving

**Author's Note:**

> hi im kiri and i want to grind zenos's face into the dirt. feel free to @ me on tunglr or twitter. i have nothing to lose and princes to duel. 
> 
> xiv tunglr | https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
main | https://kiriami-sama.tumblr.com/  
main | https://twitter.com/flamingacekiri

Even long after Ala Mhigo, there is a gnawing need deep within the Warrior of Light’s stomach. Finding out what they crave feels like solving a riddle.

A hunger that is not satiated by food, nor slaked by drink. One that does not abate with rest and only grows stronger with relaxation. It sings in an unknown tongue a song that harmonizes with battle. 

It resonates with the voice in their dreams that urges them to come a little closer, breathe a little deeper, and _consume_ _ — _

Oh.

_ Ah. _

It doesn’t matter that they’ve pressed a hand over their mouth when something of a growl makes their entire rib cage rattle with warning. They swallow, saliva still pooling in their mouth, and it feels  _ wrong  _ somehow. There should be something else there, something metallic and richer than vintage wine, but there isn’t and they are acutely aware of how their stomach roars for it.

They want blood. 

“It fills you even now, doesn’t it? The urge to bite down on my jugular—“

And  _ gods  _ did it. They can’t even finish replaying the memory before they feel their teeth sink through the fabric and stuffing of their pillow. They should be  _ sleeping,  _ especially with how much of a luxury rest is within Norvrandt, but they are tormented by him. Even in death, they are not free from Zenos’s laughing eyes. 

He sees them for all the feral instincts drilled deep into their bones. He enjoys it, pursues them like a man possessed just to get a taste of their sweat on his tongue, and had somehow wormed his way under their skin. It felt like death by a thousand cuts, how he would do so many small things just to get them to duel him as equals. He meant for one outcome and yet here they are with the Garlean prince six feet under and the Warrior of Light torn between worlds and mentalities.

They can’t afford to give into the itching of their teeth, how their throat  _ burns  _ in the wake of a struggle, lest they lose the tenuous control on the Light contained within them. It feels natural to sup on aether. They’ve been doing it for years.

But not blood. Never blood.

The next Lightwarden they face is brought low all too quickly and there’s a long moment where the Warrior has to force themself to stop staring at the crystalline curve of the Crystal Exarch’s neck. They wonder if he would bleed same as them, if they could crunch through the sharp taste of ozone and magic to feel red flood their mouth and coat their tongue. 

And that control falters long enough for something to  _ shatter.  _ They can feel it in how their magic shudders to keep from being washed away in the flood of stagnant aether.

The Exarch looks at them with worry pinching lines around his mouth and asks, “Are you quite well, Warrior?”

They do not have the bravery to tell him something so simple as  _ “no.” _

Even the comparative silence of their room feels incriminating, invisible jeers making them flip their pillow over and yank the comforter over their head to burrow beneath it.

They don’t want this strange peace. They’ve no need for the worry and tenderness of allies who would ever do selectively treat them as a living, breathing person with a will separate fro their divine duty.

They want the rush that comes with tearing limits asunder. 

They want  _ Zenos  _ and the realization is somehow less worrisome that it should have been—especially when considering all his attempts at their life and loved(?) ones—but they breathe easier at the thought of hunts from years past.

(And they have had dreams, both of the terrible and wonderful sort, where he takes from them with abandon to leave only what they truly are—and they are at peace with it.

That wretched, wanting creature left behind is what the Warrior knows themself to be. It is no lie. Even having Zenos, their dearest and most deadly enemy, see them in such a state is somehow more bearable than being laid bare before the Scions.)

It’s the ambrosial quality of knowing you’ve nothing left to lose. There are no appearances to keep when knocked breathless to their knees, that wicked smile turned upon them as he commands,  _ “Fight, struggle, live.” _

And they do. Whether by his command or Hydaelyn’s it is not known. Only that they do.

And Zenos does not, felled by his own blade in a fit of fancy, leaving them alone to take the reigns of their hunger in an unsteady grip.

They dismiss the dreams as twisted fancy and take solace in the knowledge that they saved the people  but never themself . It’s a paltry comfort born solely from the wishes of others. Could they say truly that they regret not accepting him?

There had been a  _ choice  _ and they could have had him. They could have become part of that maelstrom made from martial abandon—the same one they swore to destroy—but they would have been whole. They would have been  _ satiated. _

But they had refused out of fear of their own heart.

He smiles at them in a dream within a dream, never displeased and always amused by their struggle. He offers them companionship in one gauntleted hand. They take it every time with the honest want to go back and allow themself to give in when it mattered. 

The Warrior does not fear their own greed, but only when they have naught else to lose. Zenos has known this and takes all that they hold dear in one startling sweep of his blade. There is naught within their mind to grant them protest when he breaks them down piece by piece, night after night, until the eternal day blanketing Norvrandt becomes a respite in and of itself.

Zenos is a monster, but a kind one. He does not ever go farther than knocking them to their knees, using the tip of his blade to lift their chin up so that they have no quarter left to hide within, even when they supplicate or scream profanities.

He is immovable.

They want to eat him whole.

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos if you enjoyed please i live for feedback
> 
> lmk if ya'll want 2nd pov and i can edit to make it read like that as a bonus post
> 
> xiv tunglr | https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
main | https://kiriami-sama.tumblr.com/  
main | https://twitter.com/flamingacekiri


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